


Gone Boy

by Embrace



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, First Dates, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-09-20 21:06:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9516233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Embrace/pseuds/Embrace
Summary: "Um. You like me?" He finally got out, thankfully not squeaking. Peter just laughed, jostling Stiles with his arm as if they were two guys casually joking around with each other. Only without the joke. Was there a joke? Aside from Stiles, obviously.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Heeeey friends. Or strangers. Yeah. So this is the first thing I've posted online in years. Be gentle with me. Also, be prepared for run-on sentences and gratuitous use of commas. I have no excuses.
> 
> I really just wanted a modern day AU of my two favourite boys in high school together. Everyone's essentially the same age as in the show except for the Hales, who have all been pushed back, like, twenty years (although honestly, their canon ages are so vague that I couldn't really tell you).
> 
> I'll be adding tags as the story progresses!

The date had started out well.

Stiles picked Peter up from the library at six, and the sight of him standing there in his leather jacket, backpack hanging off of one shoulder made Stiles’ mouth twitch involuntarily. Yeah, he was pretty gone already.

The older boy sauntered up to the blue jeep, the usual smirk on his face as he surveyed the vehicle dubiously.

“Oh, come on,” Stiles snorted, leaning over to open the passenger side door when Peter took too long to get in, “I know she’s a bit old, but you don’t even have a car, so don’t side-eye her as if you have any better options.”

Ten minutes into the drive from the library to the big cinema on the other side of town (as opposed to the small, musty one that was nestled in the heart of downtown – it would have been a great place to go if you didn’t want people to see what you were doing while the film was rolling, but Friday nights were half-off and resulted in individual theaters so packed you would be seen no matter how dark it got), Stiles’ thumbs were already tapping out a rhythm on the steering wheel due to nerves. Well, not nerves per say. More like bottled-up energy. Energy that he was keeping reserved for later, when he was sure he wasn’t going to freak his date out by opening his mouth and word-vomiting all over the car in some messy attempt at making conversation and impressing the high school Senior who shared two of his AP classes with some useless information barely suitable for Wikipedia that he only learned when he should have been studying for Bio but it wasn’t his fault the frog diagram in the book was missing some anatomical-

Peter chuckled but stepped in, tossing his bag in the back. Or at least he made a half-assed effort, the bag actually getting stuck between the front seats as it wacked Stiles in the face. Flailing, he used his elbow to shove it back, huffing a glare at Peter who just smiled back. Amusement crinkled the corners of the Senior’s eyes and Stiles had to turn away, reminding himself that he refused to be caught blushing tonight. Considering the smugness that radiated off of Peter when Stiles muttered an “Asshole,” it probably didn’t matter either way.

“Stiles.”

Said boy jumped, whipping his head around to see a hand clamping down around his own on the steering wheel. His eyes followed the hand up to a pair of blue eyes that were most definitely laughing at him and hey, that is exactly what he didn’t need this early in the evening.

“What?” He tried for dismissive but the words ended up sounding more startled than anything. Peter’s smile widened and his thumb brushed Stiles’ hand slowly before trailing away. Mouth dry, all Stiles could do was stare. Peter was silent for a few more seconds before turning his eyes to the road and stating,

“You missed the turn.”

“Jesus God mother fucking Christ-”

Peter’s incorrigible laughter accompanied the sound of screeching tires as Stiles made an extremely illegal U-turn, but the place where his thumb brushed against the younger boy’s hand stayed warm for the rest of the drive.

 

\---

 

Peter wasn’t talking quite as much as usual, but that was okay, as Stiles was babbling enough for both of them. In fact, he was probably babbling enough for a group of four, but he couldn’t seem to bring himself to stop. The movie had been good; great even. Better if you considered that Peter’s hand had been dangling off of his armrest and subtly brushing against Stiles’ thigh since thirty minutes in. Now they were at a hole-in-the-wall pizza joint enjoying the biggest pieces of pizza five dollars would get you in Beacon Hills (the place was run down and the employees barely spoke a word of English, but the slices were huge and greasy which was all that really mattered) while Stiles tried to speak louder than the drunk college kids yelling their orders in between bouts of inebriated laughter.

“So, like, the thing is,” Stiles garbled out in between bites of meat lover’s supreme, a treat he rarely got to enjoy these days since he was trying to set a good example for his father who was one Big Mac away from a heart attack, “It’s not like the actor can’t play the role. He’s freaking awesome at it. First movie, Bucky Barnes down to a tee. Second movie, the perfect brainwashed Winter Soldier. Heck, even in the beginning of Civil War he played the confused amnesiac well. But the second he got his memory back, it was like BAM!” Stiles gestured with his arms to emphasize the word, “Most confusing character in the entire movie.”

Peter chuckled, nibbling on his own pizza; his third slice already, a boring cheese. Stiles had no idea how he was putting it down so fast, as Stiles himself had barely started on his second slice. Then again, the older boy hadn’t been the one talking non-stop for the past half hour.

“Maybe that was the point. He was supposed to be confused.” Peter suggested, clearly not taking the discussion seriously. What a ridiculous suggestion.

“Um, sorry, but what? That was not an actor portraying a confused character. That was a director having multiple seizures and shouting confusing directions at said actor, ruining one of the best characters in the movie! He could have gone for anything – cold and distant, sad and lost, suffering from PTSD. But what does he do? Go for an uncomfortable mix of all of the above. And what the heck was with that weird nod thing in the middle, when Cap got the girl? That is not how you react when your life-long best friend that you didn’t even remember until a day ago kisses a girl in front of you. I don’t even know what to do with that.”

Peter laughed again, those distracting crinkles forming in the corner of his eyes.

“Oh? And how  _do_  you react to seeing your best friend kiss his girl?”

Stiles snorted, scrunching his nose in disgust as he pictured Scott and Kira making out shamelessly while they were supposed to be playing video games at Scotty’s house last week. Clearly his buddy didn’t understand the meaning of bro night.

“With an appropriate amount of both pride and revulsion in equal measures,” Stiles finally answered, “Nobody needs to be a witness to the true horror that is a tongue actually disappearing down another human being’s throat. Of course,” He paused, considering for a second, “If your best friend is Steve Rogers…”

“Ah, I see how it is,” Peter hummed teasingly, “You like them tall, blonde and noble.”

“Nah, I prefer them tall, dark and clever,” Stiles retorted with a winning smile, forcing the blush down when Peter grinned back at him. He then proceeded to stuff the rest of the pizza in his mouth, guaranteeing nothing stupid was about to come out of his mouth for the next few minutes. God, he was so gone already.

 

\---

 

Stiles didn't start the night thinking he and Peter would wind up at his house, but they had somehow ended up on the topic of Dungeons and Dragons, and Peter  _actually played sometimes_ , good God how was he even real, and Stiles had mindlessly told the Senior he should come over and check out a few of Stiles' character sheets. He immediately panicked, the words to take back the request on the tip of his tongue, but then Peter had agreed with a pleasant smile and Stiles had felt a sudden, happy warmth in the pit of his stomach, and he couldn't exactly un-invite the guy after that, now could he?

So there he was, standing in Stiles' room,  _his childhood bedroom_ , shuffling through the battered notebook that contained all of Stiles' detailed notes and the occasional conceptual scribble, making off-hand deprecating comments on the characters or their back-stories (Stiles would be lying if he said he didn't like the constant reminder that Peter was an asshole) as if he weren't giving said boy a miniature aneurism just by existing at the moment. Peter was chuckling, spinning around in Stiles' desk chair just like the Junior tended to do when he got distracted, as Stiles himself sat on his bed and tried to breathe through the airy feeling in his chest. He was either really happy or was just about to experience his first heart attack. Only time would tell.

Peter suddenly looked up, brows drawn together in concern.

"Stiles, what's wrong?" He asked, rotating slightly to put the notebook on the desk behind him without having to look away from the boy on the bed, "You're heartbeat's going insane."

"I'm sorry?" Stiles choked, pretty sure that was the strangest thing anyone had ever said to him. Well, no, Scott had said plenty of strange things before, but Stiles didn't want to pin Scott to a bed and see what his butt felt like, so.

Peter seemed to startle, a frown gracing his face for barely a second before he schooled his expression back into one of concern.

"Your heartbeat," he repeated, tapping a finger to his neck, right where the pulse should be, "It's going so fast I can see it through your neck. Are you okay?"

Stiles swallowed, nodding slightly before gesturing at the air, emphasizing a point. He just wasn't sure what point he was making yet.

"Well, yeah, it's just, you know... I don't usually have people in here willing to look at this stuff.  _Wanting_  to look at this stuff. I mean, Scott'll tolerate it, which is great, but he's more of a sports-and-girls type of guy, so I don't normally have anyone to talk about all this with..." He paused, biting his lower lip nervously before continuing, positive he was making himself sound like a reclusive idiot. "It's just really nice, is all."

Peter stared at Stiles wordlessly for a few antagonizing moments in which the younger boy was sure he was going to turn into goo and melt into the floor. Seriously. Any second now. He inhaled sharply when Peter stood up, taking a few strides with those ridiculously beautiful legs of his before plopping down on the duvet next to Stiles, swinging a companionable arm around his shoulder.

"Do you know why I like you, Stiles?" The Senior asked, tilting his head inquiringly. Stiles was pretty sure he hadn't let that breath out yet, and couldn't seem to control his body enough to. Jesus, those eyes were blue.

"Um. You like me?" He finally got out, thankfully not squeaking. Peter just laughed, jostling Stiles with his arm as if they were two guys casually joking around with each other. Only without the joke. Was there a joke? Aside from Stiles, obviously. God, he was losing no it. Okay, come back, come back, Peter's talking again.

“The incredible thing about you, Stiles, is how amazing you can be without realizing it. You walk around school all day spewing out self-deprecating comments as if you’re joking while secretly hoping someone will tell you you’re wrong. But you don’t see yourself from the outside. You don’t see what I see.” Peter was now so close Stiles swore he could feel the boy’s breath on his face. He had to lick his lips a few times before responding, and it didn’t escape his notice that Peter’s blue, blue eyes flickered down to follow the motion.

“What… what do you see?”

Peter’s grin widened, as if he couldn’t be happier to share. “I see everything, Stiles. More than you could even imagine. I see miss Martin barely keeping her grades above yours, even though you barely dedicate a thought to school work. I see the lacrosse team missing two extra bench-warmers this year because one had deplorable grades and the other refused to attend try-outs without him.” A pause, before Peter leaned infinitesimally closer and breathed the next words in Stiles’ ear, “I see girls’ eyes follow you down the hall even when you express no interest. When you’ve never expressed any interest.”

Stiles swallowed, cursing the sound it made in the quiet of his room. He was suddenly really, really wishing he had put on some music or something.

“Hey, I’m an equal opportunity kind of guy,” He said, trying for casual, “I would happily reciprocate if I had known there was-” A choked noise as Peter’s nose brushed his ear. “-erm, i-interest.”

“Hmm, see, that’s what I thought,” Muttered Peter, sounding contemplative, “You’ve never seemed the type to wait until you find the ‘right person’. It was only a matter of time before someone made an obvious enough move and you took the opportunity for what it was. Which is why I took the situation into my own hands.”

Stiles took all of this in, the tiniest feeling of dread starting to pool in his stomach. Was that what this was? Peter noticed Stiles was on the verge of finally losing his status as a social outcast, something he and Scott had been battling (relatively unsuccessfully, but Stiles was the master of long-term plans) for years, and he wanted to make sure that wouldn’t happen? That he would put a big “off-limits” sign on his back and make sure everyone knew about it? The younger boy drew back, uncertainty showing on his face.

“But why? For what purpose?” He asked, dreading the answer. God, he knew Peter was manipulative (and ruthless, and clever, and bitingly sarcastic in the most brilliant of ways), but not once on the entire date had he got the impression that the other boy’s feelings weren’t genuine. If this had all been some long-winded ruse, he was going to throw up. Literally. Well, maybe just some dry heaving – that pizza was good but he didn’t need to taste it twice.

Peter looked startled when Stiles retreated, and expression that didn’t grace his face very often. He remained a bit bewildered, but didn’t let the slight rejection throw him off. In fact, he raised his other hand to gently cup Stiles’ face, and the younger boy felt a little faint when he realized where this was going.

“Didn’t I just tell you?” Peter was leaning in, eyes wandering lower, voice getting deeper until he was just speaking in a murmur, “I like you Stiles.”

Stiles closed his eyes right before he felt a pair of lips brush his own, only to snap them open again as a loud ringtone cut through the room, causing him to startle and flail off the bed. Peter cursed loudly above him, not remotely as spooked as the boy on the floor, and went to retrieve his phone out of the jacket that was flung carelessly over Stiles’ desk chair. The Junior watched the older boy cautiously as he glared at his phone screen, deliberating for only a few seconds before tossing the phone on Stiles’ desk. Stiles made an inquisitive sound, although he could barely hear himself over his own heartbeat, which was still recovering from the ringtone and the almost-kiss.

“Aren’t you going to answer that?” He asked, scootching his butt up until he was sitting on the duvet again. Peter was still glaring at his phone which hadn’t stopped ringing. He seemed to make a decision, though, when he shot his hand out and hit the button to reject the call. The boy turned to Stiles with a wry grin, grabbing his DnD notebook and waving it in the air.

“I’d rather get back to what we were doing, if you don’t mind.”

Stiles gulped, eyes flicking between the Senior and his notebook.

“Do you mean… everything we were doing?”

Peter’s eyes darkened, but his smile only got wider.

“All in good time, my dear.” He said, sliding his way back over to the bed.

 

\---

 

When the phone started ringing for a second time, Stiles was breathless with laughter, holding his sides as if trying to keep more air in.

 

\---

 

By the time the phone was ringing for the fourth time, Stiles was breathless for other reasons.

 

\---

 

He probably wouldn’t have heard the howl if the window hadn’t been open.

It was approaching one in the morning, which was way later than Stiles had intended (and  _way_ later than his father would approve of; thank God for night shifts). He and Peter hadn’t been making out the  _whole_ time since that first phone call. There had also been shenanigans. Platonic shenanigans. They’d messed around on Stiles’ laptop, Peter had tried (and failed) to win at Mario Cart a dozen or so times, and they’d even watched a movie, although that was more for background noise than anything. But yeah, in between that they had been mostly making out.

Stiles wasn’t sure he’d ever felt so content in his life. He always knew he was a tactile guy, but now that he was cuddling –  _cuddling_  – with the insanely attractive captain of the Basketball team, he felt like he was floating on air. Only Peter’s fingers carding through his hair was keeping him grounded – well, that and he was having an insanely strong craving for Doritos. Why.

The howl cut through the silence of the night, startling Stiles a little and causing him to lift his head off of Peter’s chest.

“Huh,” He said, staring out the window. The sound was resonating awfully close, although he thought he’d read once that coyotes could throw their voices. Not that this really sounded like a coyote.

“That’s weird. Never heard dogs howling here before,” Stiles mused, turning back to a suddenly tense Peter. Not that the howl really sounded like a dog, either; at least not one that Stiles had ever heard. He didn’t mention this, however, a lot more focused on the guy in his bed who looked awfully uncomfortable all of a sudden.

“What’s wrong?” Stiles asked, sitting up in preparation to close the window in case it was the noise causing an issue.

“I, ah… just remembered that I need to get home.” Peter said briefly, propping himself up on his elbows and staring out the window without looking at Stiles. The boy couldn’t help but huff in disappointment, but it  _was_ one in the morning, and he couldn’t really expect a teenager to stay the night.

“Alright, I’ll give you a ride.” Stiles quipped cheerfully, glad he got to drive Peter home instead of just seeing him off. Peter gave Stiles a tense smile but said nothing. Huh, maybe he had strict parents.

The drive out was longer than Stiles was anticipating. Beacon Hills wasn’t a large city by any means, but Peter lived all the way out in the Preserve, down a long driveway that was probably gorgeous in the daylight but absolutely terrifying at night. When they reached the house, Stiles couldn’t help but let out an impressed noise. He knew Peter’s family was relatively well off, but his house was a mansion. An illuminated mansion. Because the hall light was on, and a woman was standing outside with her arms crossed.

Peter’s hand, which had been resting on Stiles’ on the gearshift for most of the ride, tightened when he saw her. Stiles glanced over at him as he slowed into a park, but the older boy said nothing.

“Who’s that?” Stiles asked quietly, almost afraid to break the silence. The woman was watching like a mother would her son, but she looked far too young to have mothered an eighteen-year-old.

“It’s my sister.” Peter answered just as quietly, looking simultaneously chastised yet defiant. Stiles got the impression Peter wasn’t supposed to be out this late, and suddenly remembered all of the phone calls the boy ignored.

“Oh my god, is she the one who was calling all night?” He demanded, feeling a weird second-hand guilt for being the reason Peter was distracted. This cause Peter to smile a little, finally turning his head away from the angry woman who was clearly getting impatient.

“Yes,” Peter said, no remorse in his voice. Stiles flailed a gesture that could have meant anything from “what the hell” to “that angry lady is clearly going to skin you once I’m gone, what were you thinking”, which only made the older boy laugh. He leaned over and pulled Stiles in with a gentle hand on his cheek, smiling into their brief kiss.

“You were more important, okay?”

Stiles nodded reluctantly, watching as Peter got out of the car to confront his sister. Before shutting the door, however, the Senior leaned back in and grabbed Stiles’ hand, planting a kiss on the knuckles.

“See you on Monday?” He breathed, and Stiles couldn’t do anything but nod. It wasn’t until he was driving away, leaving an already shouting woman and her unapologetic brother behind, that Stiles realized he couldn’t wait for the weekend to be over.

God, he was gone on this boy.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whether it was in the middle of AP English or through text, Stiles could always count on Peter to have a sarcastic reply at the ready.
> 
> At least he could before Peter decided to go off the grid for four days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayyy look I'm back. A huge thank you to everyone who enjoyed the first chapter, I seriously can't thank you all enough for the kudos and comments!
> 
> Serious warning for more run-on sentences and serious over use of commas. I can't stop myself, honest.

Stiles was a bit worried.

Well, “a bit” being subjective of course. He was pretty sure he was handling it fine, but the looks he was getting suggested the others at school were not so confident in his ability. Which was ridiculous. Stiles was the master of handling things. He handled things all the time, in every shape and size.

Jesus Christ, not the time.

It wasn’t like Stiles was freaking out or anything. He was actually keeping his composure quite well, considering. It’s just that when your last remaining parent was a cop who happened to put himself in dangerous situations on a constant basis, you tended to get overly-reliant on text message check-ups, the occasional note that said “hey, I’m alive, I’m not ignoring you because I’m dead, I just have more important things to do right now!”

Although really, more important than Stiles was one thing, but more important than the last four days of school was something completely different.

“Stiles, stop freaking out.” Scott’s voice sounded from the right, an almost exasperated tone to it which was ironic considering Stiles was the one who had to put up with his moaning about Kira on a regular basis, “He’s probably just sick or something.”

“Sick?” Stiles wheezed out, spinning to face his friend in the hall even though they were almost late for Econ and really had no time to idle about, “Sick?! For four days? With no notice, not a single word? Four days, Scott!”

Scott sighed, grabbing his friend by the elbow and leading him to their classroom. They crossed the threshold as the last bell rang, nearly missing getting the door slammed in their faces when Coach Finstock appeared from behind it.

“Ah-hah!” The man cheered, throwing a jubilant fist in the air as he turned to observe a remotely startled classroom. Scott and Stiles paused where they were, staring like everyone else, waiting for an explanation. However, Coach just sat down at this desk, a triumphant look on his face as he pulled out a crinkled sheet of lined paper and made a short note. The two boys still standing up looked at each other, shrugged, and hurried to their seats.

“Maybe he’s so sick he’s at the hospital?” Scott leaned over to suggest, the choked cough Stiles let out going unnoticed, “He wouldn’t be able to contact you if it’s that bad.”

“No shit, dude!” Stiles hissed back, pillowing his head in his arms, “That’s what I’m worried about.”

“Oh,” Scott mumbled before going silent.

Stiles loved Scott like a brother but holy crap could he be dense sometimes. It’s not really like Stiles had any reason to worry. He and Peter had barely been dating for a month, so it’s not like Stiles would be the older boy’s priority to contact if he did get hurt. It just felt like the past month had been going so well, and Stiles had kind of started thinking that he _would_ be one of the people Peter contacted if something happened. At this point he was torn between worrying that something truly bad had occurred, or Peter just didn’t feel the need to tell him that he was going to be missing a week of school.

Stiles never expected things to move as fast as they had. Well, mostly he never expected to actually be in a relationship in high school, but if he had given any thought to one, he wouldn’t have imagined it going quite the way it had so far. Peter was captain of the Basketball team; popular, attractive, and so, so clever. Stiles could never have predicted the sharp-tongued Senior he shared two classes with coming up to him out of the blue and asking him on a date, and he _never_ would have guessed an actual boyfriend would be the result. However, when Stiles saw him at school again after their first date and Peter had immediately slung an affectionate arm over his shoulder before pulling him in for a smug kiss on the cheek, Stiles certainly didn’t complain. And he hadn’t complained since.

The Junior had become somewhat of an anomaly at school. The weird spaz that used to be a benchwarmer for the Lacrosse team was suddenly dating _Peter Hale_ , with no explanation, and this altered the entire hierarchy. Now Stiles had to sit at a lunch table with half of the Basketball team (he tried telling Peter that it was fine, he’d just sit at his table with Scott, but when Peter stubbornly migrated over to sit with them half of the team followed), which was weird enough. But then Kira ended up inviting her new friend Erica, a quiet girl with a shy smile, to the table, and with her came Isaac Lahey from the Lacrosse team, who was dating a new girl Stiles hadn’t quite caught the name of but was best friends with Lydia Martin who was dating Jackson Douche-more who was always followed by his best friend Danny, and suddenly the lunch table was a lot more boisterous than Stiles was used to. He grew more excited with so many people to talk to (at, to talk at), especially when he learned that Erica was an avid comic reader. Peter’s arm was around his waist every single lunch period, and Stiles was just content to lean into the contact.

After school had invited an entirely different routine as well. Instead of just going home or heading to Scott’s place, Stiles and Peter usually hung out for a few hours before parting ways. Sometimes they ended up at Stiles’ house, sometimes they just hung around Beacon Hills. Stiles hadn’t been back to the mansion in the preserve since that first night, and he couldn’t say he was eager to – even though he just caught a glimpse of her, Peter’s sister looked terrifying. He’d since learned that she was the older boy’s legal guardian, as their parents had passed away when Peter was young, and was all the more protective of him because of this. They’d both agreed to delay the “parent” meeting for as long as possible, and Stiles imagined meeting the Sheriff was just as daunting as being introduced to a sister whose first impression was of him bringing her brother home in the early hours of the morning.

All in all, Peter and Stiles spent a ridiculous amount of time together. They couldn’t seem to get enough of each other. And it wasn’t just for the physical stuff, either (although that was a pretty big bonus). It was, like, 15% cuddling, 20% making out, 5% insults, 3% questionable movie decisions and 57% mutual snark. Seriously, Stiles couldn’t get enough of that mouth on Peter (in multiple ways). He’d never met someone who could not only keep up with his train of thought, but snap a retort right back without having to think about it. Whether it was in the middle of AP English or through text, Stiles could always count on Peter to have a sarcastic reply at the ready. 

At least he could before Peter decided to _go off the grid for four days_.

“Bilinski, get your head off the table!” Coach yelled, the scratch of chalk on the board pausing as he turned around to glare at the boy, “People eat off of those things! I don’t need your greasy scalp ruining my lunch.”

“Wwwwwwwwhat.” Stiles started, raising his head in a dramatic gesture that ended up flailing his entire upper body. Before he could express his confusion any further, however, he was interrupted when Danny raised a hand and asked,

“Coach, what’s a pop-presentation?”

Finstock’s eyes lit up and he smacked his hands together in a victorious clap.

“I’m glad you asked, Danny. See, this is why everyone likes you. Unlike you, Greenberg. God, you ask the stupidest questions.”

 

\---

 

It wasn’t until he got home that afternoon and checked his phone for the six hundredth time that Stiles really acknowledged the tight feeling gathering in his chest. He rubbed at his breastbone and grimaced, unfortunately very familiar with the unpleasant sensation. He didn’t think he was going to have a panic attack over a boy he’d only been dating for a month, but he’d be lying if the radio silence didn’t have him more on-edge than usual.

He didn’t even notice the extra presence in his room until the sounds of a car driving down the street had him look up at the window he could have sworn was closed when he left for school this morning, and then movement in the corner of his eye had him yelling and turning around so fast that he tripped over his own feet.

“What the fuck!” Stiles yelped from where he’d landed ungracefully on his ass, staring with wide eyes at the smirking boy lounging on his bed. He wasn’t usually one to curse, but _what the fuck_. Four days and not a single word from the asshole _laying in his bed_ , and said asshole doesn’t even jump in with an apology or a “please, let me explain where I’ve been all week while you’ve been worrying your cute perky butt off, also I broke into your house; surprise”? Just that stupid, stupid smirk that Stiles will probably have to kiss off his face once he’s received a suitable explanation.

“ _Four days_ and not a word from you,” Stiles snapped before getting up off the floor, crossing his arms and then uncrossing them when he realized he couldn’t stand still, “And instead of messaging me to let me know you’re alright you decide to break into my house and show up in my bedroom?”

Peter didn’t say a word, the smarmy look still on his face as he gingerly rose from the bed. Stiles had another scathing comment ready to unleash when Peter sauntered over, grabbed Stiles by the shirt and pulled him into a crushing hug. All the words Stiles had lined up died on his tongue, his face pressed to Peter’s neck and the other’s boys face pressed against his hair. A deep inhale startled Stiles out of his sudden shock, and he brought his hands up to grasp Peter’s hips only to notice the Senior was trembling.

“…Peter?” Stiles questioned tentatively, running a hand up the boy’s lower back in what he hoped was a comforting manner. However when his fingers brushed against something rough that made Peter wince, he repeated the question more urgently. 

“What’s- Peter, what’s that? Are you hurt? Oh God, did you escape from the hospital in some messed-up romantic display? Is that _fresh_?” Stiles backed away, covering his eyes while trying to leave a hand on his stupid boyfriend’s shoulder to remind himself that he was alive. “Oh my God, if you start bleeding all over my floor I’m going to pass out, I’m not kidding.”

“Jesus Christ, Stiles, sometimes I ask myself what I see in you.” Peter muttered, bringing a hand up to uncover Stiles’ eyes. The younger boy peeked out distrustfully, squinting so as not to catch sight of any gruesome wounds.

“Stiles,” Peter sighed, patting his back as if to demonstrate that he was okay before bringing the hand up to wave in Stiles’ face, “Look, I’m fine. Oh-” The boy paused at the sight of blood on his hand, expression contemplative. “I suppose I am bleeding a little.”

“Oh, yeah, okay, that’s cool.” Stiles said in a relatively calm voice, right before passing out to the sound of Peter cackling.

 

\---

 

“Stiles.”

“…” 

“Stiles.”

“…hnng.”

“Stiles.”

“Hnggnnnooo dn’t look ‘m naked.”

“Good lord, what is wrong with you.”

“…Peter?”

Stiles peeled his eyes open, wincing at the pounding in his head as he lifted it off the pillow. It took him a few seconds to re-orient himself and realize he was on his bed, and another few seconds to recall what led up to him becoming unconscious in the first place.

“Ow, you asshole.” Stiles grumbled, rubbing the back of his head tenderly, “You couldn’t have caught me or something?”

“I was too busy laughing.” Peter hummed from where he was sitting at Stiles’ desk, scrolling on his laptop. “I moved you to the bed, didn’t I? You should be thanking me.”

“Wow, yes, thank you for probably dragging me across the floor and onto my bed after you _made me pass out_ at the sight of your- holy crap!” Stiles exclaimed, jumping off the bed before having to sit down again at the sudden throb of pain lancing through his skull, “Your back- you were bleeding! What the hell happened?”

“It’s fine, I’ll heal.” Peter said dismissively, more focused on the screen in front of him. Stiles shot the boy a grimace, not that he could see it, concentrated as was on a stupid computer instead of his possibly mortally wounded boyfriend. Peter may have been confident in his ability to survive life-threatening injuries, but Stiles could have… gotten a concussion. Or a fractured skull that could have punctured his brain and caused massive internal bleeding. Stiles would have to look up potential head injuries later, when the idiot sitting at his desk was gone. Speaking of…

“When did you get the password for my laptop?” Stiles snapped, possibly a bit mulishly. What could he say; he wasn’t in the best mood right now. Peter shrugged nonchalantly, which certainly didn’t help improve anything.

“I found those magazines under your bed last time you fell asleep halfway through a movie. Like you always do. I made an educated guess.”

Peter wasn’t looking to see the fierce blush that took over Stiles’ face, but knowing him, he knew anyway. Choosing to ignore what those words implied, Stiles instead decided to get to his knees and shuffle over to where the Senior was sitting, lifting the boy’s shirt and gaping at what he saw.

“Jesus Peter, what happened?”

Instead of answering, Peter finally broke his attention away from the computer and spun to face Stiles. His eyes were crinkled with amusement but his expression was tender. He drew Stiles towards him and pressed the sides of their faces together, taking a deep breath. Peter was always inhaling around Stiles, and he figured either the guy had a sniffing fetish or he just really liked the smell of Stiles’ shampoo. It wasn’t the worst thing that could be wrong with the guy. He could have been a psychotic murdered or something.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” Peter murmured, tucking his nose in behind Stiles’ ear, “Sassing the teachers at school. Arguing with me even when you know you can’t win. Mmm, laying in my bed…”

“Well, it would have been nice if you had called or left a message or something letting me know that,” Stiles grumbled, trying futilely to pull back, “Besides, I’ve never been past your driveway. A more accurate picture would have been me in _my_ bed, lying awake at night because I’m wondering where my _stupid boyfriend is._ ” Wiggling back enough to look Peter in the eye, Stiles tried to convey that this was a serious discussion, dammit, there was no room for insinuations or sarcasm. “Seriously, you look like you’ve been clawed by a wild animal. Why didn’t you contact me to let me know you were okay?”

Peter looked like he was about to spout off a sassy comeback, but something in Stiles’ face must have let him know that it wouldn’t be well-received, so he just sighed.

“…I had no reception.” Peter finally muttered, looking like an explanation was the last thing he wanted to be giving. When Stiles just raised an eyebrow he continued, “My family went camping this past weekend. I got lost." 

“For four days.”

“It was a very big forest.”

“Uh-huh. And while trying to find your way out you, what, got mauled by a bear?”

“The woods are dark and dangerous, Stiles, I was only doing my best.”

Stiles let out a harsh breath of frustration, turning away as much as he could from where Peter’s remarkably strong grip was still holding him. Seriously, if he got his strength from Basketball, Stiles was going to have to consider switching sports because _holy geez_ this guy could get you in a chokehold and not even flinch if you struggled to escape. Not that Stiles had ever thought about being choked or anything, but in a hypothetical situation… not the time, Stiles, not the time!

“Peter, you are one of the most cunning, snarky, manipulative people I know. You could probably convince a college math professor that the Pythagorean theorem was created by a guy named Frank. But dude, you’re not even trying right now.”

Peter stared at Stiles contemplatively, seeming to come to a decision in his head relatively quickly. He closed the distance between them, brushing his lips against Stiles’ forehead in a brief kiss before leaning back again with a sharp smile.

“Stiles. You are the most clever and intuitive person _I_ know.” The older boy turned his head slightly and something about the light made his eyes appear to almost glow for a second. “You’ll figure it out.”

The two stared at each other for a long few seconds, Stiles dubious while Peter had the same self-confident cocky asshole-ish attitude as he always did. God, Stiles’ boyfriend was such a douche-bag. He had no idea why he liked him so much. Must be the muscles.

It was probably the muscles.

“Now that you’re done being dramatic,” Peter said flippantly, breaking the silence, “Maybe you want to explain why you currently have eight tabs up with pages ranging from habits of migrating animals to the mating behaviour of wolves.”

Stiles squawked in protest, lunging over to shut his laptop, but Peter grabbed it and held it out of the way with an evil chuckle. This quickly devolved into a wrestling match, the kind that probably would have turned into a passionate make out session (like it always did in movies) has Stiles not ended up elbowing Peter in the solar plexus, resulting in the Senior doubled over heaving for breath while Stiles himself struggled to breathe through his laughter.

They ended up putting an old movie on so they had something to snark at besides each other, even though they both knew the Sheriff would be home not long after dinnertime and Peter would have to go. Stiles played with Peter’s fingers to keep his hands busy, which the older boy complained about loudly, but not once did he pull away. Likewise, Stiles pretended not to notice when Peter’s other hand wandered and brushed up against the side of his neck, or his arm; as if he were trying to cover Stiles in as much _Peter_ as possible.

And if Stiles clung a little more tightly upon saying goodbye, and Peter vehemently promised to text when he got home, neither of them said anything at all.

(Stiles did end up researching head injuries that night, after which his father insisted no, the bump on his head was not the size of a ring-necked pheasant’s egg and no, there was no discolouration to indicate internal bleeding. So he was probably going to be fine.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to go for a multi-chapter story, because while there doesn't appear to be a plot yet JUST WAIT IT'S COMING.
> 
> (Sometimes I worry I'm making the characters too clingy and then I remember how my high school friends were with their boyfriends/girlfriends and suddenly they don't seem that off anymore.)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Stiles. I understand where you’re coming from. Truly, I do. But could we please not discuss your father while my hands are down your pants?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun little side note: I write these chapters almost exclusively at work, which I should probably not be doing instead of, you know, working. Don't be like me kids.
> 
> Thank you again to everyone leaving comments and kudos! You make my day a little brighter!

Stiles had always been perceptive, even as a kid. That combined with his ADD and lack of filter often led to problems, but luckily for him most of the time all he got was an eyeroll unless he was completely ignored all together. 

Sometimes Stiles forgot where his knack for putting clues together came from.

“Stiles.”

The boy jumped from where he had been sitting, face three inches from the computer screen, and spun to face the exasperated man standing in his bedroom doorway with ninja hands at the ready. Stiles sometimes thought if his father sighed any harder, he might literally collapse under the weight of his own consternation.

“Dad. You are standing in a doorway. That previously had a closed door. Knocking is a thing.” Stiles gestured to emphasize the clear breach of privacy (he could have been, you know, doing things. His father really should have learned his lesson after the Stilinski Door Disaster That Shall Henceforth Never Be Brought Up Again). The Sheriff donned a skeptical look, seemingly unimpressed with the super important things Stiles was doing with his privacy.

“Son, I just came in here to ask if you want me to pick up dinner when I’m done my shift tonight, but if you’re focusing on something else right now I will happily choose something myself.” The man said, shifting his weight as if he really were perfectly happy to pick out supper himself. And he probably was, the calorie-loving bastard.

“What? No!” Stiles exclaimed, turning back to his laptop and pulling up a new tab, “I heard there’s this new falafel place downtown, great reviews so far. Chickpeas and fava beans, you’ll love it.”

The Sheriff sighed as if the thought of consuming food suddenly wasn’t even worth it anymore, but he reluctantly stepped up to peer over Stiles’ shoulder to get the address. Stiles was in the middle of typing the name of the joint in the Google search bar when his father snorted.

“Stiles, why are you researching polyamory and the phases of the moon?” The man asked, pointing at the other tabs Stiles had up on his browser. The boy slammed the lid of his laptop shut, spinning around and smiling up at his father.

“Personal project,” He said, standing and ushering his dad from the room. “I just remembered that I hate fava beans. At least my digestive system does. Clearly the beans hate me too. How about Greek, you love Greek! Rice and hummus, the perfect combination for a balanced meal.”

Stiles finally pushed the Sheriff from the room, but before he could utter a farewell his father turned to him with a concerned look on his face.

“You know you can tell me, right?” The man said, pushing his shoulder against the door Stiles was not-so-subtly trying to close, “I, ah. I accept who you are and everything and, uh. I just want you to be happy.”

Stiles’ brain froze, and all he could do was stand there and blink for a few seconds before it rebooted. “Wh- Dad, what are you talking about? Tell you about what?”

The Sheriff leaned in close, looking around as if anyone was actually going to hear them _in the privacy of their own home_.

“I know you’ve been hanging around that Hale boy a lot recently.” The man leaned back a little, a shade of guilt coming over his face as he explained, “Some of my deputies let me know that they see you two around town sometimes, and I know that you invite him over which,” The guilt was quickly replaced by a sterner look, “You really should have spoken to me about beforehand, but. I just want you to know that you don’t need to worry about introducing him, or. Or coming _out_ or anything-”

“Wow, okay, yes Dad!” Stiles cut his father off with a look of horror and embarrassment, unable to believe this was coming up _right now_. “Um, yes! So. I’m, ah, dating him! Peter, that is. Yes. We are going out. Seeing each other. Courting?”

The Sheriff’s expression was just as pained as his son’s, and he pushed out his next words as if they physically hurt. 

“Alright, son. Well. I’m glad you were honest and told me, even if I did have to figure it out myself first. Be sure to invite him for dinner one night, yeah? Just, ah. Let me know first. I don’t think my heart could take it if I walked in on you two-“

“WOW, look what time it is!” Stiles yelped, checking out his invisible watch, “Time for work, yeah Dad? Man, you do _not_ want to be late for your job as Sheriff of Beacon County. That is not the kind of job you are late for. You get your butt to work, old man. We will talk about this later. Or never. That’s a great option too.” 

“Later,” The Sheriff insisted with a hard look before finally walking away, leaving Stiles collapsed against his door in a mixture of dread and relief. Well. That was not the confrontation he wanted to start off the weekend. It’s not like he ever _hid_ the fact that he was into guys sometimes, he just never went out of his way to bring it up. Peter, on the other hand. Yeah, that he probably went out of his way to keep from his dad.

He could see how this might look bad.

 

\---

 

“I need you to come to dinner with me and my dad,” Stiles murmured, the words spilling out before his brain could stop them. Peter automatically stopped what he was doing, pulling back from Stiles’ neck and giving him a hard stare.

“Stiles.”

“Yeah, yes, ‘Stiles this, Stiles that.’ I know! I didn’t say anything though, he found out by himself. And I’m not going to tell you that you have to do it, because we both know the more I ask the less likely you are to actually come through because you’re a stubborn asshole, emphasis on the asshole, but I _am_ going to tell you that if you don’t come to dinner my dad will be disappointed and I’ll feel guilty and have to spend more time with him to make up for it, which means less time with you and while you would like to pretend you don’t care just know, mister, that your cold exterior doesn’t fool me and I know there is a warm, cuddly puppy somewhere underneath all of that biting sarcasm that would pine like there’s no tomorrow if you didn’t get your daily cuddles.”

Peter looked like he wanted to rebuke what Stiles just said but at the same time was trying to figure out how he got all that out without taking a breath. Eventually his features settled on a mix between discomfort and irritation.

“Stiles. I understand where you’re coming from. Truly, I do. But could we _please_ not discuss your father while my hands are down your pants?” The older boy growled out, squeezing Stile’s butt over his underwear for emphasis. Stiles made a little “oh” of understanding and slid off of Peter’s lap, which he had been straddling in the backseat of his jeep. Despite the ruffled hair and partially unbuttoned shirt, Peter looked cool and collected as he closed his eyes and slammed his head into the back of the seat a few times. However, Stiles knew exactly what noises Peter made when he was really getting into things, so he felt a little bad about his impromptu request. Somewhat.

“Sorry,” the boy muttered, decidedly not actually feeling all that contrite. Peter’s hands were no longer anywhere near his delicate areas, and he really did need an answer.

“I’m not going to ask what made you think of your father while I was groping you,” Peter started out, rolling his eyes at Stiles’ squawk of protest, “But I hate to admit you’re right. If the Sheriff knows I’m seeing his son it would probably be a good idea to be introduced to the man at some point.”

“Awesome!” Stiles pumped a fist in the air, only slightly hampered by his cramped surroundings, “When are you free? I was thinking we could break out the big guns and go straight for the steak – no point in being subtle when you _know_ dad is going to do the ‘cleaning his service weapon’ routine.” 

Peter appeared to be on the verge of rolling his eyes again, but his mouth was twitching up almost involuntarily into a smile.

“I’m sure I could make time for you, Stiles,” He drawled, hands moving to Stiles’ hips as if anticipating the end of the conversation so they could get back to what they were doing. Stiles smacked at the older boy’s hands but they were determined and held on.

“Oh, great. Feeling real loved, over here.” Stiles snarked, letting himself be drawn back in. When he was once again settled on his boyfriend’s lap, hands framing the Senior’s face, he leaned in until their lips were almost brushing and whispered, “How about next Friday?” 

Peter paused, a tiny frown line appearing between his brows before he cleared his expression. Stiles likely wouldn’t have noticed had he not been looking.

“Not next Friday,” Was the response, spoken dismissively, “My family has dinner together once a month. My sister insists everyone be there.”

“Oh?” Stiles asked, stroking Peter’s cheekbones while maintaining eye contact, “You’re sure you couldn’t make other plans? Just for one night?” He moved his face to the side, breathing over the older boy’s ears, “Just for me?”

Peter shifted until they were face-to-face again and resolutely stated, “No.” Stiles pouted, but he didn’t relent.

“Really? The only night your family can have dinner together in the entire month is next Friday? Mm, the night of the full moon?” Peter’s eyes lit up but he didn’t say anything. “Are you trying to tell me your entire family is a bunch of… Lunatics?”

Peter sighed in disgust while Stiles snickered at his own joke. It was a horrible joke, sure, but he never claimed to be perfect.

“Stiles, my beautiful, idiotic, clever boy.” Peter murmured, making Stiles squint in confusion (idiotic and clever? What?) “I’ll make it to your dinner next Friday on one condition.” There was an evil gleam in the boy’s eyes that Stiles didn’t like. “You come to dinner with my family and personally ask my sister to have me for that evening.”

Oh, but of _course_ there would be a catch. It wouldn’t be Peter he was dating if there wasn’t a catch. What a dick. Stiles had no idea why he tolerated the guy’s douche-baggery. Stiles let his head thump down on Peter’s collarbone so he wouldn’t see what was likely a victorious grin on the other boy’s face.

“But your sister’s scary,” The Junior whined into his boyfriend’s shirt. Said boyfriend hummed, pressing his nose to Stiles’ hair and rubbing against it in a manner more becoming of a cat than a teenager.

“Terrifying, truly. Now why would I willingly subject myself to that when _you’re_ the one who wants me on that particular night so badly?”

Stiles sighed, lifting his head to glare at his boyfriend’s smug expression.

“…Damn you and your manipulation. It gets me hot and you know it.”

Peter laughed, finally drawing Stiles in for a kiss.

“Oh, indeed. I count on it, darling.”

 

\---

 

“Lydia! My sweet, strawberry blonde angel from-”

“No.”

“Wh- You haven’t even heard what I’m going to-”

“No.”

“Please? Seriously, I need your help, you’re the only one who can-”

“Stiles, I’m going to say this one more time, and if you persist in bothering me, it will only confirm my assumption that you are in fact a buffoon and Peter Hale is only keeping you around as eye candy.” 

“No, honestly Lydia, this is im- Wait. You think I qualify as eye candy?”

“Wipe the victorious expression off your face, Stiles. You’re not bad but you could do so much better if you actually wore something other than plaid.”

“That’s what I need your help with! I’m having dinner with Peter’s family on Friday night and I want to impress them. Well, his sister. Slash mother. Sister-mother? That sounds slightly illegal.”

“I don’t want to know where your mind goes sometimes, and I certain don’t feel the need to help you. You’ve never seemed to care about making good impressions before, why is this dinner any different?”

“I need to convince Peter’s sister to let me have him during their monthly-family-gathering-night-thing. Have as in for dinner, not like _have_ have.”

“…”

“To have _over_ for dinner, not to eat him!" 

“Good god, what does that boy see in you.”

“I’ll be completely honest, I’m still not entirely sure. _Please_ , Lydia, this is really important to me.”

“…If we’re going to make you look good, it’s going to take a little more than a few new clothes. And I am not even going to try to attempt this alone. Allison will be coming too. Afterwards, you can carry our bags for us. Don’t think I won’t call in this favour at a later date, Stiles.”

“Yes! Thank you Lydia, you are a goddess! Er, Allison’s that new girl, right? Why do you need her?”

“Hmm. What’s the smallest size of jeans you’ve ever fit into, Stiles?”

“Um.”

 

\---

 

Oh god. This was it. This was the end of his relationship as he knew it. He had come into this with good intentions, but like with all things, he’d made a royal error. Stiles just never thought that error would be asking Lydia for advice.

“Oh my god. I’m gonna die.” Stiles mumbled to himself, still idling in the driveway outside of the Hale house (mansion, that thing was a certified mansion). His palms were sweating, which really wasn’t good as that meant he was probably sweating everywhere else too. And he really, really didn’t need sweat stains to be the first thing Peter’s sister noticed about him. Especially since he was pretty sure the first thing she would notice was the lilac button-down shirt (“Lydia, it’s purple.” “Shut up, it’ll compliment your eyes.”) tucked into the tightest skinny jeans he’d ever laid his eyes on, let alone fit into. Stiles was 98% sure these were not decent to be wearing to a family dinner. There was even gel in his hair, something that was preventing him from running his hands through it every ten seconds, which was really starting to irritate him. The things he did for a boy.

Stiles was in the middle of an incredibly effective pep-talk (all in his head, of course; no need to add “converses with himself” to the list of reasons why Peter shouldn’t be dating that weird kid) when the door to the house opened and a well-dressed Peter walked out, crossing his arms with a smirk that even Stiles could see. The smarmy bastard had somehow poured himself into a cream coloured V-neck almost as tight as Stiles’ pants, and, well, let’s be honest, the younger boy didn’t really notice anything else that his boyfriend was wearing because _sweet Jesus_ the things that shirt did to him when he crossed his arms…

Stiles wasn’t focused on getting out of the car, all of his attention on Peter’s face and the rapid flash of expressions that crossed it as Stiles made his way up to the porch. First came anticipation, then astonishment, then a strange mix that Stiles couldn’t discern but looked oddly like hunger warring with irritation.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Peter whispered angrily when Stiles tentatively reached for him, unsure what to make of the sudden mood change. Stiles went to withdraw his hand at the words, but Peter reached out and snagged it, raising it to his lips and giving it a frustrated kiss.

“I don’t…” The younger boy started, already uncomfortable with where the night was going and unwilling to continue if the reason he was here decided to be an ass about the whole thing. Peter tugged him close, however, and buried a nose close to his ear so he could whisper,

“How the hell am I supposed to get through tonight without staring at your ass the entire time when you’re wearing _those_?” 

Stiles burst out laughing as he felt a hand sneak its way into his back pocket, wiggling around not-so-innocently (although really, the pants were tight enough that the wiggle was more of a twitch). Peter hummed against Stiles’ hair in amusement before pulling back suddenly, an evil look on his face.

“Stiles, are you not wearing…?”

“They wouldn’t fit!” Stiles hissed back, face turning an unattractive shade of red. Peter’s eyes lit up with glee, clearly imagining all the defiling he could do without underwear in the picture. He leaned in, probably to whisper some extremely perverted sweet nothings (that would most _definitely_ not turn Stiles on while standing outside a house full of people, nope, nuh-uh, no way) when a cough from the doorway interrupted the two, surprising a very manly squeak out of one while the other just turned with a malicious smile.

“Boys,” Talia Hale greeted, eyebrow raised as she observed the _totally innocent_ hand that Peter had down Stiles’ jeans pocket. It took all the younger boy had not to thump his head down on his boyfriend’s chest because why not! First he brings the Senior home in the early hours of the morning and now they’re caught canoodling on the front porch like a couple of teen- Well. Okay, so they were a couple of teenagers, but Stiles refused to conform to the stereotype, dammit! He was not the type of boy who would give it up for a pretty face and some sweet words on prom night! He had standards!

“Talia,” Peter replied, pulling Stiles around by his back pocket (seriously, at this point Stiles was a little concerned that the hand was stuck in there; the pants were _really_ tight) so they stood side-by-side, “This is Stiles. Stiles, this lovely soul-sucking leech is my sister, Talia." 

Stiles choked on an inhale, having to bury his cough in Peter’s shoulder so as not to see the scowl the woman sent her brother. If he didn’t know better, he would almost say her eyes were red as she slowly melted the boys into a small puddle of liquid-hot goo with the heat of her glare. Oh god, forget about Stiles ruining this – he completely forgot who he was attending this dinner for. He was never, _ever_ asking Peter for a favour again.

“Er, uh, pleased to meet you Mrs. Hale?” Stiles winced, slowly extending a hand to shake. Peter’s sister narrowed her eyes at her brother one last time before turning to Stiles with a suddenly warm smile, grasping his hand with a grip that was only a shade too tight.

“Talia, please. And the pleasure’s all mine, Stiles. I’m so glad to finally meet the one human on this planet that can actually tolerate the demon that was switched out for my real brother at birth.” 

Stiles was pretty sure he was wheezing at this point, but it was hard to tell when all he could focus on were two points of contact on his body – one hand gripping his own warningly (although he didn’t think the warning was for him at all), while the other was still possessively groping his butt. Stiles suddenly got the feeling that there was a conversation going on here that he wasn’t a part of.

“MoooOOOOOm,” Came an abrupt whiney call from inside the house (seriously, _mansion_ , what kind of people could even afford a place like this), startling the two Hale siblings out of whatever silent battle they had been fighting by using Stiles as a _very_ uncomfortable in-between. A sullen boy who couldn’t have been more than eight stomped outside, barely reserving a glance for Stiles before staring mulishly at Talia.

“Laura’s eating a piece of pie already,” The boy whined, visible on the verge of stomping his feet in irritation. Stiles wasn’t usually great with kids (his biting sarcasm was a little too real), but in this moment he couldn’t have been more grateful for the distraction.

“Well if that’s a decision Laura wants to make, she’s free to make it. She knows by now that means she won’t get any pie after supper.” Talia responded reasonably, reaching a hand out to card through the boy’s hair. He slithered out from under her touch, flailing his noodley upper body in a way only a frustrated child on the verge of a tantrum could.

“Noooo, you don’t get it. She’s eating _my_ piece of pie. It’s the one with the burnt crust!” The kid groaned, so distraught that one could almost believe the piece of pie being consumed by someone else was a serious dilemma that required his mother’s immediate attention. Talia shot an apologetic glance at Stiles (narrowing her eyes at Peter) before apologizing and shuffling off to solve the world’s current crisis.

“Ah…” Stiles started, slowly turning back to Peter as he caught sight of at least three more children running around inside the house through the still-open front door, “How many people do you have living here? Like, what should I be expecting in terms of family members judging my every move?”

“We have twelve people in the house at the moment, although the number fluctuates based on the time of the year.” Peter answered, eyes glittering with amusement even as he shoved his other hand down Stiles’ second back pocket to complete the groping circle. Circle-of-gropage. Whatever, there was a lot of inappropriate touching going on

“Twelve people?” Stiles felt a little faint at the idea of dining with twelve people while his perverted boyfriend tried to molest him under the table, likely ruining any chance he ever had at making a good impression.

“Mm-hmm. Me, my siblings, their spouses and kids. Used to be my grandmother too, but she walked off naked into the woods a year back and never returned.”

 Stiles chuckled nervously until he noticed the small, amused smile on Peter’s face which made him frown.

“You’re joking, right?”

Peter stared walking backwards into the house, freeing his trapped hands from the confines of Stiles’ pants as he sent his boyfriend a mischievous grin. The older boy then turned around, sauntering off to who-knows-where while Stiles remained standing in the doorway, gaping after him.

“Seriously, you’re joking, right? Peter? Peter!”

 

\---

 

“Your family is awesome,” Stiles murmured to Peter in between kisses, making the boy growl low in his throat.

“Shut up,” The Senior grumbled, trying to silence Stiles himself through a mix of kissing a shoving him back against a tree. The boys were out in the preserve, having taken a walk after dinner, the lights from the house barely visible through the foliage. Stiles had honestly, _honestly_ thought that they were just coming out here to talk. HA, jokes on him. Peter was certainly using his mouth, but it wasn’t for talking.

“Ah, seriously though, your sister is hnng- the best!” Stiles did his best to gasp out, grasping strands of hair between his fingers and tugging as Peter worked his magic on his neck. He whined in disappointment a few moments later when Peter pulled back, an exasperated expression on his face.

“Stiles. I like you. A lot. I truly do. But could you _please_ not talk about your father or my sister when I am sucking _hickeys_ into your neck?”

Stiles sighed, an uncommonly shy smile gracing his face as he gazed into the bluest of blue.

“Did you know that you have super blue eyes?” He babbled, the words, like always, leaving his mouth before he had a chance to consider what he was saying, “Like, seriously, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a blue that bright. There should be a name for it. Bluey blue. Brighty-blue. Blue-ighty. Bluenanimous.”

“Jesus Christ, Stiles, what is wrong with you?” Peter groaned, closing his eyes to Stiles’ ramblings. The boy laughed lightly, but couldn’t help the tight feeling that accompanied it.

“It’s just… I really wanted your family to like me.”

Peter opened his eyes, readjusting his grip on Stiles’ hips and stroking the skin below his navel in a _really_ distracting manner before answering.

“They do like you Stiles. But even if for some reason they were blind to the marvel that is your awkwardly sarcastic humour and incredible intelligence, as unapparent as it may seem sometimes,” Stiles took the moment to punch his idiotic boyfriend in the shoulder, receiving only a sharp grin in reply, “I wouldn’t care. I wouldn’t give a flying fuck, Stiles. Because _I_ can see your intelligence. And _I_ understand your humour. And the less people who appreciate it, the more I get to myself. Besides, even if my sister hadn’t given me permission to have dinner at your place next week with a warning to behave myself, I still would have gone.”

Stiles could do nothing but stare at the older boy in awe, not entirely sure he had heard correctly. Peter, complimenting him? Without a scathing insult to dim the praise? Did his heart just grow three sizes?

“Do you really mean that?” He asked, not needing affirmation _per say_ (but who was he kidding, he was dying to hear it again), but also very possibly unapologetically fishing for compliments.

“Of course I mean that. It would irritate my sister to no end if I went without her approval.”

“Ugh!” Stiles grunted, accompanying the noise with a punch to Peter’s stomach. The older boy doubled over, half humouring Stiles’ attempt to injure him, half hiding his chuckle in Stiles’ shirt. “You are such an asshole!”

“But of course I am, my dear.” Peter laughed, straightening up and pressing a kiss to his partner’s willing lips, “You wouldn’t have me any other way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, even though these chapters may seem random and mildly unrelated, they're all leading up to an actual plot. Promise.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t think that was an accident, Stiles. They pushed you into the lockers quite hard.”
> 
> “An unfortunate consequence of my killer intelligence and good looks, no doubt.” Stiles scoffed hoarsely while Peter tensed slightly, narrowing his eyes.
> 
> “Who pushed you into lockers?” He asked, sounding blasé. No, really, the feigned attempt at nonchalance was quite good, Stiles was giving him props for that one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, my name's actual human garbage, nice to meet you.
> 
> This chapter's been done since the end of February, whoops. Work (where I write these chapters like a responsible adult) has been super busy, plus I kind of moved my horse to a barn closer to me and have been spending most of my days out with him. He's my fur child, alright? HE NEEDS ME.

“What’s the deal with all of these Freshmen?”

Danny looked up cautiously before glancing around to make sure there was absolutely no one else Stiles could be talking to. No one. Not even the slightest chance he could pretend the boy wasn’t talking to him. Finally, he turned back to find Stiles squinting suspiciously at the teenagers making their way to class. Like they did every day. In a generally unsuspicious manner.

“Um. What are you talking about?” Danny ventured to ask, figuring even if he didn’t, Stiles would end up telling him anyway. He wasn’t wrong.

“The Freshman,” Stiles repeated, gesturing as if Danny had already forgotten what the boy had said not ten seconds ago, “They all look so… teenager-y.”

Danny tried his best not to sigh, wondering why he was the one always stuck in these situations. Was it his face? Did he just look too nice, like someone who would actually care about this?

“Yeah, Stiles, that’s because they’re teenagers.”

“I don’t know about you, Danny, but when I was fresh out of middle school, I looked like I was fresh out of middle school.” Stiles gestured again, this time at himself. The other Junior raised an eyebrow at the mole-covered boy, whose recently grown out hair only barely made him look older than he did for the years during which he had a buzz-cut. “These kids look like they’re twenty-something, not fourteen.”

Danny turned an appraising eye on said Freshman, shrugging his shoulders at what he saw.

“Can’t say I’m complaining,” The boy said, blasting a charming smile at a set of identical twins in identical leather jackets he’d never seen around before. One of the twins smiled back while the other cast a speculative glance at Stiles, who was still muttering something about hormones in food. Danny honestly didn’t have it in him to pay attention anymore.

“Seriously, they’re hiding something. There’s no way the entire Freshman year is this attractive!” Was the last thing Stiles exclaimed before Danny rolled his eyes and walked away, intent on indulging a little and getting his own taste of fresh meat.

\---

Stiles spent the entire morning moping, although he had to admit to himself that he might have been overdoing it a little. It’s not like he and Danny were buddies, but they were _lunch table buddies_ , and that was a bond one didn’t just break for a pretty face. Or, well, two pretty faces, as the case was. There was no way Danny was going to tap all of that, twins didn’t just both come gay. Or did they? Google would know, Google knew everything.

Just as Stiles was getting lost in his own head calculating the probability of twin sharing genetic markers that predetermined their sexual orientation, he was startled out of his daze when a lunch tray dropped down on the table next to him. Because apparently it was lunch. How long had he been sitting at the table playing with his chicken nuggets before someone had joined him?

“Dude, you’ve been quiet all day,” Scott said, following his tray. Kira appeared across the table, smiling a hello. “You’re kind of weirding me out. What happened?”

Stiles sighed dramatically, but decided to let it go and forgive Danny for his shortcomings. Maybe the boy just didn’t understand the trust and loyalty that went into sharing a lunch table.

“It’s those new kids that just started today, isn’t it?” Kira said, chewing delicately on a piece of chicken. Her parents usually packed a healthy lunch for her, insisting they wouldn’t pay for a school lunch program when the food thy made at home was just as good, but today was chicken nugget day. You couldn’t just _not_ have chicken nuggets on chicken nugget day. The girl continued with a grimace, “I saw them bumping into you at the lockers, they didn’t look very gentle.”

“Hey, yeah!” Stiles sat up straighter with a cry, rubbing his shoulder as if it still hurt. It didn’t, but nobody had to know that. “Those guys are assholes! Really assholes, not just Peter-level assholes.”

“Mm, you called?” drawled the devil as he appeared, setting his lunch tray down delicately and practically slinking into his seat on Stiles’ other side. The younger boy immediately nabbed his boyfriend’s sweet and sour sauce, leaving the nasty barbeque stuff to the heathen who’d grabbed it. Chicken nuggets were too sweet, too pure for that vile excuse of a dipping sauce.

“Yes, _asshole_.” Stiles snarked, stuffing his face with sweet and sour chickeny goodness. The look of disgust that crossed the older boy’s face when Stiles spoke with his mouth full made him snicker, resulting in him choking as he tried not to inhale the four nuggets in his mouth. Peter calmly ignored his boyfriend’s distress as he primly ruined his chicken nuggets in tangy brown gunk.

“No, but really,” Kira continued in an earnest voice, gazing seriously into Stiles’ eyes as he coughed out half his lunch with the (not so helpful) aid of Scott pounding on his back, “I don’t think that was an accident, Stiles. They pushed you into the lockers quite hard.”

“An unfortunate consequence of my killer intelligence and good looks, no doubt.” Stiles scoffed hoarsely while Peter tensed slightly, narrowing his eyes.

“Who pushed you into lockers?” He asked, sounding blasé. No, really, the feigned attempt at nonchalance was quite good, Stiles was giving him props for that one. If anything he sounded mildly curious. Stiles, of course, saw through the indifferent exterior into the warm, gooey marshmallow underneath. Well, like a half-burnt marshmallow that was kind of rude sometimes. Most of the time.

“Aww, sugar-muffin, do you actually care?” Stiles gushed, plastering himself to Peter’s side while the older boy huffed and rolled his eyes.

“Yes, Stiles, my day has been halted in its tracks because someone had the gall to look at you wrong and now I must challenge them to a duel and defend your honor.”

Kira was staring between the boys with wide eyes, clearly concerned she’d started something. The poor girl had been hanging around Scott too long and was used to his blatant honesty – Stiles and Peter always seemed to baffle her when the interacted, communicating almost exclusively in sarcasm and insults.

“No, really,” She repeated quite seriously, “It seemed like they meant to hurt him or something. It was those kids who just enrolled, the twins.”

“Yeah, complete douchebags.” Stiles muttered, but his boyfriend had a completely different reaction that he wasn’t expecting.

“What?” The Senior said flatly, body stiff and nostrils flared.

Stiles glanced over, eyebrow raised (as high as he could get it - he never could manage to master the dubious eyebrow. Some people just weren't born blessed). Peter sounded furious, a tone he'd never really heard from the older boy before. If he was honest, it was kind of a mix between chilling and hot. He admittedly had a strange sense of attraction.

"Well, yeah, but it's really nothing that hasn't happened before," Stiles shrugged, turning back to his lunch as more people joined the table. Erica and Isaac slipped in between a few members of the Basketball team (Stiles was working on learning their names, alright? There were just a lot of them, and they all looked inexplicably alike) to sit beside Kira, overhearing the last bit of the conversation. 

"Yeah, you used to get bullied hard," Isaac noted, slinging a companionable arm around Erica, who looked a little pale. "Especially back in middle school, before all of those preppy dicks left to go to Beacon Private. It's a shame Jackson didn't follow them there."

"Shut the fuck up, Lahey." Jackson snapped, slumping down at the table as if it were the last place he'd rather be. Lydia tutted and primly told Jackson to get over himself as she and Allison sat down as well, neither carrying school lunches. The monsters. 

"You said it was those twins who pushed you? They touched you?" Peter growled, startling half of the table. Stiles stared with wide eyes, completely dumfounded. He'd never seen Peter angry, _really_ angry before, and he had no idea what was bringing this on.

"Yeah, and you should have seen the way Aiden was watching Stiles today," Danny chimed in as he joined the table, seemingly oblivious to the foul mood Peter was suddenly in, "It's weird; I could have sworn he was the straight one, but his eyes were following you across the hall. It's their first day here, how did you manage to piss them off already?"

Stiles squawked in protest while Scott curiously asked, "Was the other one watching him too?" to which the answer was "Obviously not, he was talking to me." Stiles hadn't done anything to piss those two leather-clad jerks off! At least he didn't think he had? He'd barely looked at them let alone said anything to them.

Meanwhile beside him, Peter was fuming. The table as a whole seemed to avoiding eye contact for the most part, but when the Senior abruptly stood up, Stiles couldn't help but glance over. Peter's face was cool and unreadable.

"I just forgot I have a test after lunch. I'm going to go study." The older boy said, which was absolutely ridiculous. Stiles didn't think he'd ever studied for a test in his life; he didn't need to.

"I can go with you?" Stiles offered, prepared to shove the rest of his lunch in his mouth and get up. Peter just shook his head, however, and pushed Stiles back into his seat. 

"I don't need any distractions," he claimed, walking away briskly. Stiles nodded even though it went unnoticed and as a last-minute thought yelled,

"Wait! Can I have the rest of your chicken nuggets?"

But it was too late. Peter was gone and the nuggets were already on Stiles' tray.

\---

Stiles didn’t see Peter again until school was out, when he found the Senior waiting for him anxiously by the jeep. Well, Stiles imagined he was waiting anxiously. Sure, his expression was cold and his body posture said “touch me and you die”, but that really wasn’t anything too unusual after a day of having to tolerate a building full of “incompetent fools”. It was a wonder that guy had any friends.

“Hey,” Stiles greeted cheerfully, pulling out his keys and leaning against the vehicle. Peter immediately crowded into his space and Stiles welcomed the boy in with a hum, never one to deny spontaneous cuddles. Besides, it looked like Peter had had A Day.

“Are you still coming by tonight for dinner?” Stiles asked when it was apparent Peter wasn’t going to say anything. The older boy was busy aggressively rubbing his hands along Stiles’ jaw and throat, something that was kind of weird and oddly intense, but also a routine that Stiles had gotten used to after the first few times he experienced it. So Peter had a neck kink to go along with his strange sniffing habit. It was still better than him being a serial killer.

“I want you to stay away from those twins,” Peter growled in an almost sub-vocal tone. Stiles rolled his eyes but happily snuggled in closer when Peter shoved his face in the crook of his neck. It really must have been One Of Those Days if the older boy was acting this clingy.

“Well, aren’t you feeling possessive today?” Stiles sighed, pulling back to make eye contact, “Which is cute, really. Unfortunately, that doesn’t answer my question, so I’m gonna need you to refocus for this one; dinner tonight? With my father? The Sheriff? I went through a traumatizing evening at the Hale manor last week for this opportunity, don’t tell me it was in vain.”

Peter still looked like he was on the verge of growing fangs and snarling, but his eyes cleared a little and he managed to smirk in that devilishly handsome way of his.

“Traumatizing? And here I thought you liked my family.”

“I do! Especially your sister, she really seems to know what’s going on,” Stiles laughed, squeaking (a manly squeak, _it was a very butch sound_ ) when Peter pinched his butt at the comment, “Doesn’t mean I’m going to forget how skilled your guardian was with a carving knife. Or that look that your nephew gave me when his sister successfully snuck her veggies onto my plate so she didn’t have to eat them.”

“She was only successful because you _did_ eat them. My sister noticed, she just didn’t say anything because you genuinely seemed to enjoy them.”

“I did enjoy them! Brussels sprouts are delicious enough as it is, but fried with bacon and covered in cheesy goodness? I would have asked all of the kids at the table for their portion if I had been willing to risk a mother’s wrath. Nobody stops a woman from stuffing her kids full of nutrients that they desperately don’t want.”

Peter chuckled, his eyes doing that stupid adorable crinkly thing again. Stiles’ stomach had a weird fluttery moment, which he tamped down on hard.

“Do you want to come over now?” The boy found himself asking, mentally banging his head against the jeep because that is not what he meant to ask, and there was no way having Peter Hale over for the entire afternoon would lead to an even remotely appropriate scene for his father to return home to. “We could, ah… cook dinner? I could show you how to cook Brussels sprouts without the bacon and cheese and still have them turn out half-decent.”

Peter’s lips twitched at that, but he shook his head and withdrew.

“My sister’s expecting me home first. But I _will_ see you tonight. If I’m a bit late just call me, okay?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, bucko. If you’re a bit late I’m going to find you and strangle you myself.”

\---

Stiles was going to find Peter, then he was going to strangle him.

Two hours late. That asshole was _two hours late_.

“Stiles, it’s not a big deal.” The Sheriff sighed in a voice that clearly said it was a big deal. The man was sitting on the couch, watching his son pace furiously as the clock only ticked closer to half-past eight.

“It _is_ a big deal, dad.” Stiles stressed, once again dialing his now disowned boyfriend’s number. And once again, the call went straight to voicemail. He was beyond livid. And, like, maybe a teeny bit concerned. Just the slightest iota of a fraction. But he couldn’t spare the time for soft emotions like that when he had to put so much focus on being angry.

“He probably got caught up in something,” The Sheriff reasoned, still not trying very hard to hide his displeasure. Which was fair, it was absolutely fair! Stiles’ dad had waited two weeks for dinner with the boyfriend that had essentially been hidden from him, and it only came after dinner with the other family first. So the man totally had a right to be irritated! It was just that last time Peter had stopped communicating, he showed up four days later with four large slashes on his side that looked like a bear mauled him, marks he was still covering under gauze weeks later. If experience had taught Stiles anything, it’s that nothing ever happened with Peter without good reason.

“… I’m gonna go find him.” Stiles eventually decided, locking his phone and shoving it into his back pocket. The Sheriff sighed, as if he had seen this coming, but only got up from the couch to clap his son on the shoulder.

“And I’m going to eat that steak and veggie salad you made. Don’t be surprised if you get back and there are only veggies left.”

“One steak, mister!” Stiles shouted on his way out the door.

The drive to the Hale house was dark and quiet, allowing Stiles to cool his head a bit and think rationally. He was still pissed at Peter. No matter what, the other boy should have been able to call or message him or _something_ to let him know he wasn’t going to make it on time. However, the fact that he hadn’t in itself was concerning; never let it be said that Peter Hale wasn’t the vindictive type to intentionally “forget” about plans to send some sort of a message. But he’d never done that with Stiles before. Heck, Stiles was the one he’d share a smirk with after people confronted him and he pretended like he’d just forgotten. Something wasn’t adding up and it was making Stiles more than a little anxious.

It was when Stiles was only a few miles away from the Hales’ place that he heard it. A guttural snarl tore through the air, startling the boy out of his thoughts. He glanced to his right and tapped on the brakes a little, since there was no one else one the road. A quick scan of the trees revealed nothing, but Stiles continued cautiously; he vaguely remembered reading something in the news about joggers being attacked by wild animals on late night runs recently and really didn’t want to be That Guy that drove off and left someone to die a painful, rabid animal death when he could have stopped and called 911 or something.

The vicious noise sounded again, only it was definitely closer this time, and Stiles quickly reconsidered. No point in leaving two dead bodies for the cops to discover. Stepping on the gas, Stiles kept an eye on the Preserve to his right in case a bear or chupacabra or something decided he looked like a satisfying next meal.

Which is probably why he missed the shape blurring across the road from his left.

Something slammed into the side of Stiles’ jeep, driving the door into his shoulder and sliding the vehicle off the road and into a shallow ditch. Stiles smacked his head on the driver’s side window, a startled yell only half making it out of his throat before he blacked out a little. Everything was dark and a bit fuzzy when he came to, but there was no missing the massive, looming shape sitting on the hood of his now very totaled Jeep.

“Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Begone, demon wolf!” Stiles cried, trying to scramble out of his seat without taking his eyes off of the hulking beast with _glowing red eyes_ that was actually slavering at him through the spider web cracks in his poor jeep’s windshield. That thing was not natural, there were some serious Chernobyl vibes coming off of it.

Stiles’s seatbelt clicked open just as the thing clearly grew impatient with just staring at its meal and slammed its face through the windshield. Grabbing the closest thing he could as a weapon, Stiles found himself smacking his phone into the creature’s nose, making it flinch and earning him a few seconds he used to climb into the back seat, desperately looking for something more substantial with which to protect himself. A brief spark of success only minutely drowned out the overwhelming feeling of terror when he felt his hands close around something hard and oblong; his baseball bat! Well, Scott’s mom’s baseball bat, but she wasn’t using it and hadn’t even noticed it go missing three years ago and _now really wasn’t the time_.

Red eyes made a reappearance as the demonic wolf-creature crawled half-way through the shattered windshield and its teeth made a bee-line for Stiles’ throat. He immediately smacked the thing’s muzzle with his weapon, realizing at the last second that what he had wasn’t, in fact, a baseball bat. But it was far too late to look for something else now.

“Die! Die, evil cohort of Satan, die!” Was what Stiles found himself screaming as he defended himself against something straight out of a horror movie with a royal purple dildo. The rubber length (ribbed for her pleasure) made a heavy thwacking sound as it pounded against the face of a frankly startled looking monster. If Stiles had any room in his mind to think about it, he would almost say the thing knew exactly what he was hitting it with.

Stiles was starting to think he was going out then and there in his jeep with only a cracked phone and a purple sex toy to remember him by when a furious roar sounded from deeper in the Preserve. The creature (that was quite honestly doing a half-assed job at the whole mauling thing) immediately perked up and disentangled itself from the wreck of glass, shredded seats and Stiles before launching itself back outside. The sound of the monster tearing its way through the undergrowth grew more distant and Stiles’ breathing only got louder. Holy crap. Either he’d just survived an encounter with a rabid bear, or the devil had sent hellhounds after the wrong person. There was nothing normal about that encounter.

An abrupt tap on the window had Stiles nearly peeing himself (if there had been anything in his bladder at all it would have leaked out five minutes earlier), but after startling off the seat and contorting around to see who (or what, that was a very valid question now) it was, Stiles nearly collapsed in relief. At the same time, his emotions from earlier came rushing back and, bolstered by the wild animal attack, he found his skin almost buzzing with anger.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Stiles demanded, his voice coming out a little shakier than he would have liked. Peter didn’t seem to hear, nearly ripping the door off before reaching into the totaled jeep and pulling Stiles out. The younger boy flinched, Peter grabbing right over a bruise that was most definitely forming, but stood on shaky legs after being extricated from the vehicle. Deaf to Stiles’ weak protests, Peter ran his hands over every inch of him, face hidden by shadows but eyes almost glowing with anger. No, seriously, they were honest to god glowing; there was no way a blue that bright was possible in the dark.

It was then that Stiles realized Peter was shaking. They were both shaking, to be honest, but Peter’s hands were trembling in a way Stiles only recognized from having panic attacks as a kid. Since Peter didn’t seem like he’d just worked his way through a panic attack, Stiles assumed it was adrenaline.

“Hey,” Stiles murmured, clutching at Peter’s hands which were oddly warm and sticky, “Hey, calm down. Please. I need you to be here right now.” Peter closed his eyes to take deep breaths, every inhale seeming to bring him back down. Eventually he opened his (now back to normal) eyes and gave Stiles an imploring stare that looked completely out of place on his face.

“I’m sorry I missed dinner with your dad,” The older boy muttered. Stiles filed the moment away in his mind; while Peter was usually pretty genuine, it was _unusual_ for him to be so without sarcasm cutting through his words.

“My dad, yeah,” The younger boy droned back before his eyes widened, “Oh my god, my dad. I need to call him. Like, right now!” Stiles launched himself back at his jeep intent on searching for his (probably broken anyway) phone, but Peter grabbed at him before he could re-enter the wreck.

“No-“ Peter started, but Stiles whipped around with a scowl before he could finish.

“Yes! I was just attacked by a demon-wolf-bear while I was out looking you, and my father, who is _the Sheriff_ , should probably know what happened!”

Stiles was fully prepared to continue before the sound of sirens in the distance cut him off, and his expression became confused.

“My sister called the station when we heard the wreck. She, um,” Peter wouldn’t meet Stiles’ eyes but he could swear the boy’s face was red in the moonlight, “She was following me after I snuck out of the house.”

“Wait. You. What?” Stiles was not following. Words were going in one ear, beating his brain with a splintery broomstick and going right back out the other. There was negative comprehension at this point, and he thought that the shock might have finally been setting in.

“It’s not important right now,” Peter affirmed, glancing down the road where the flashing lights of police cars were getting closer, “I’ll explain everything later, I promise. Just. Do me a favour, alright? When the cops ask you what happened, tell them you hit a bear or mountain lion, okay?”

“What? Dude,” Stiles gestured at the side of his jeep, which had caved in upon impact, “That would only be believable if I had hit, like, a freaking polar bear. And I’m telling you, that thing was not a polar bear. I’m more convinced it was a demonic hound from the pits of Tartarus!”

“Stiles,” Peter deadpanned, turning so the deputy who had just exited his car was out of sight, “I swear to you, I will explain everything. But I’m 90% certain I’m about to meet your father for the second time at the site of his son’s car crash and I really need you to work with me here, alright?”

Stiles narrowed his eyes suspiciously, starting to ask “Second time? What do you mean, second time?” But Peter was already turning back to face the approaching deputy while two more sets of flashing lights appeared further down the road. The bastard would have some explaining to do, Stiles thought as his fingers wormed their way into his boyfriend’s hand. But he was willing to wait and research his own answers. After all, there were only so many monsters that would attack on the night of the full moon.

**Author's Note:**

> I read this over about eight times before posting. Any and all mistakes belong to both me and MS Word, and shall bring shame to our families.
> 
> (Not sure why I feel the overwhelming need to explain this, but. "Senior" and "Junior" are capitalized because they're referring to the boys' high school years, not their ages.)
> 
> OKAY THANKS SO MUCH FOR READING AND I REALLY HOPE YOU ENJOYED.


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